


a collection of one shots | roger taylor

by witchbod



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-08-29 20:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16751155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchbod/pseuds/witchbod
Summary: i probably won't update this anymore





	1. bad news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't want to use his actual kids bc i just didn't wanna worry about like their ages and also i just think that's weird to i just made up kids :) (finally proofread and edited lol)
> 
> they're married for about five years in this one!

you’re sitting on the couch sipping tea. it’s about midnight, and you’re tired, but you want to make sure roger is okay. he’s never late, not without calling to tell you he’s going to be. all the kids have been asleep for a few hours. they kept asking for their daddy, making the process a million times harder.

you lean forward, placing your tea down on the coffee table and dropping your head in your hands. your stomach aches, your fingers are clammy, you’re minutes away from a headache. when the door opens. you close your eyes, and a tear of pure relief rolls down your cheek. you stand up from the couch, turning to face the door. you watch as rog takes off his jacket and places his keys on the hook, and you try to stop as a few more tears fall down your face.

he hasn’t noticed you yet, and he stops in the foyer and takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. you want to stop crying, but you can’t. your mind had gone through every bad scenario in the past few hours, you’re far too relieved to see him safe in the house.

you finally can’t take anymore, and you walk around the couch and start making your way over to him by the door. you can tell something is wrong, but you need him first. you need to be wrapped in his arms, because you had convinced yourself that you would never be able to again.

he’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t see you until you’re an arm’s length away, and you just throw yourself into him before he can even say anything. “hi, love,” he coos, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you tight. you’re practically sobbing now, hours of pent up emotion just bursting out all at once. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he places a kiss in your hair. “i should have called.” he rubs circles into your back. “i’m sorry.”

“i was so fucking worried,” you said into his chest. you weren’t mad, he knew that. he never did anything like this. “i just sat on the couch for hours thinking about all the things that could’ve happened and i just-” you pause, taking a breath and trying to calm yourself down. “you always call. and when you didn’t i assumed the worst had happened.”

“i’m sorry,” he says again, pulling away slightly and placing a finger under your chin, lifting it so you’re looking up at him. “i really am, baby.” he moves his hand so it’s on your cheek, using the pad of his thumb to wipe off the stray tears. “it’s been a long day.” he does the same with his other hand, wiping a few more tears. you turn your head to place a kiss in his palm, pulling yourself back into him.

“i could tell,” you say. he takes a deep breath and places his cheek on the top of your head. you sit there like that for a few minutes. “is everything okay?” you ask. “are you okay?” 

he shakes his head above you. “well, i’m okay,” he continues. “but freddie-” he stops, almost unable to finish. you can tell he’s blinking back tears.

“shh,” you coo. “it’s okay, baby.” you rub your hands on his back. “do you want some tea?” you ask. “how about i make some tea and you go change, hm?” you brush a few stray pieces of hair out of his face. “and then i’m all yours.”

he nods and places a kiss on your nose before heading upstairs to change. “please don’t wake up those kids,” you call out to him as he walks away. he turns back around and looks at you. “they just took for-fucking-ever to fall asleep tonight,” you explain, running your fingers through your hair.

he smiles a little. “delilah give you the hardest time?” he knows his kids too well.

“of course, she did,” you say, leaning up against the wall of the foyer. “you know she prefers to fall asleep for her daddy.” he smiles again and pretends to clutch his heart before turning back around and heading upstairs to change.

you grab your mug from the coffee table and dump out the old tea before refilling the kettle and putting it on the stove, waiting for it to heat up.

_“but freddie-”_

you keep playing the words over in your head. freddie what? your mind wanders again, just as it had moments ago. they had had their ups and downs, but freddie was family. he was warm and kind and sweet to your kids. and now he was...well, whatever he was you knew it couldn’t be good for roger to be this upset.

a few minutes later, he comes back downstairs wearing flannel pants and an old t shirt. you smile and him and quickly pour the tea into mugs and walk to meet him in the living room. he grabs one from you and kisses your forehead.

you don’t say anything yet. you don’t pry. you both sit down on the couch, he puts his arm around you and rubs your back, your head rests on his shoulder. you can tell how upset he is by how feverishly he rubs your back and squeezes your waist, and the anxiety starts to build in your chest.

and then he just says it. “freddie has AIDS.”

you sit up and look at him, unable to find any words. he looks at you and nods, tears forming in his eyes. “oh my god,” is all you manage to mutter, a hand covering your mouth in disbelief. you look back at rog and see the tears now completely covering his face. “oh, love,” you say, reaching over and placing your hands on his face, wiping the stray tears, repeating the actions he had done to you just a few moments before. you wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you into him, holding you like his life depended on it. and in his eyes, maybe it did.

you want nothing more than to say something to make him feel better, but you know that there’s nothing to say, you know that in this moment he just needs to sit here and cry. your heart aches as you sit there, his chest shaking and tears soaking your t-shirt. you rub circles in his back, fighting back tears of your own.

your eyes shoot open when you hear a small gasp coming from the doorway of the living room. you look up to see your daughter standing there, blanket hanging at her side, sleep and shock evident on her face. roger doesn’t even notice her, but you pull away and stand up from the couch to pick her up. he feverishly wipes at his face, not wanting his baby to see him in the state he was in. you take her back and sit her on your lap.

“mumma, why is daddy crying?” she whispers in your ear. delilah was the biggest daddy’s girl out of all three of your kids. naturally it was her that woke up.

you try to think of what to say, how you could explain to your four year old why her dad was sobbing into your arms just moments ago. “daddy just found out something really sad,” you tell her. “one of his best friends is sick. and it just made him really upset, that’s all.” you kiss her temple and brush some hair out of her face, unnecessarily trying to smooth out her bedhead.

“oh,” she says. she sits silently for a few minutes, trying to make sense of what she just heard. she looks up at you. “can i give daddy a hug?” she asks. you nod at her, and she crawls off your lap and over to roger’s. he smiles at her as she kisses his cheek and wraps her arms around his neck. she sweetly pats his back, and your heart almost breaks when she pulls away and looks at him and says, “don’t cry, daddy. it’s okay.”

he smiles and pokes her nose before placing a chaste kiss on it. “i know, baby girl,” he tells her. “sometimes mummys and daddys just get sad, too.” he picks her up and stands up from the couch. “let’s go back to bed, hm?” 

he starts to walk over to the stairs. “hey, rog?” you call out as he walks away. he turns back to look at you, delilah’s head on his shoulder, already drifting back to sleep. “it is gonna be okay, alright?” you tell him.

“yeah, i know,” he says to you. he smiles and turns back around to head upstairs. you grab the mugs from the coffee table and put them in the sink, ready to sleep yourself.

you head upstairs and into your bedroom, quickly throwing on one of roger’s large t-shirts before crawling into bed. he comes in shortly after, and he flicks off the light and climbs in behind you, instinctively wrapping his arms around your waist.

“is she asleep?” you ask, only half awake.

“yep,” he says. he places a soft kiss on your neck. “she always falls asleep for me.” you can tell by his voice that he has a smug smile on his face.

“jerk,” is all you respond, as you wrap your arm on top of his and link your fingers with his.

he laughs. “i fucking love you.”

“yeah i guess i love you too,” you joke. he kisses the exposed skin on your shoulder, and you fall asleep on one of the longest nights of your life


	2. mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so basically jackson is six, delilah is four, and lottie is almost three. like i said in the last one, i just wanted to make new kids bc i like the idea of using roger's actual kids. (this is not proofread or edited oops)
> 
> they're married for probably five/six years in this

“no, it’s fine,” you say into the phone. you look over at roger and roll your eyes. he laughs and strums at his guitar. “yeah, i’ll be there, of course,” you continue. “no worries. i’ll see you tomorrow.” you hang up the phone and drop down on the couch next to him. jackson and delilah were upstairs playing, somehow not killing each other, and lottie was down for a nap.

“work?” he asks, resting the guitar against the side of the couch and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. you lean your head back on the couch and he places a kiss on your cheek.

“yeah,” you sigh, closing your eyes. “there’s some other hot shot executives coming in to make some deal and they need me to come in early and help set up.” you pull your feet up on the couch and move to lean against his chest. “i don’t even need to be at the meeting,” you say. “apparently someone else was supposed to come in but she got the flu.”

“what time do you have to go in?” he asks. you hear one of your kids scream, and you both pause and wait to see if there’s any more noise. when nothing follows, you both assume everything’s okay, and go back to your conversation.

“i’m gonna need to leave at six,” you say. you look up at him, “do you think you can get the kids ready and drop lilah and lottie off at daycare before you head the studio?” you ask. “my mom can probably come over early if you can’t but-”

“babe, relax,” he laughs, rubbing your shoulder. “of course i can get them ready.”

“are you sure?” you ask. “i’ll get everything ready tonight all you’ll need to do is clothe them and feed them and get them out the door.”

“love, yes, i can definitely take care of my own children,” he says, amused more so than anything else. he was right, of course. he was a great father, just not always the best at being on time.

“yeah, you’re right,” you say, snuggling yourself back into his chest. “sorry.” he laughs again and kisses your temple. “but i’m still getting everything ready tonight,” you tell him.

just then, lottie starts crying upstairs. you sigh and go to stand up, but roger beats you to it. you assume it’s to prove a point more so than anything else, but you’re definitely not arguing.

* * *

the next morning you wake up at 5. you groan when the alarm goes off, you’re usually able to sleep for another two hours. you wiggle your way out of roger’s arms as he attempts to latch onto you and pull you back into bed.

“rog, baby,” you say, leaning back down to press a kiss on his shoulder, “i gotta get ready.” you finally break away from him and he groans, not even remotely awake. you laugh and head to the bathroom to shower and get ready.

it doesn’t take you that long, and soon you head down to the kitchen to make lunches for the kids. you pack jackson’s backpack and the girls’ bags for daycare. you make a few pancakes and wrap them and put them in the fridge, knowing those will be easy to make and give the babies before they head out for the day. you had laid out clothes for each kid the night before, neatly folding them on top of their dressers. you sigh, standing with your hands on your hips in the kitchen, mentally going over your morning routine and making sure you remembered everything. deciding that you had, you head back upstairs to say goodbye to roger.

you sit down on the bed next to him. he hasn’t moved since you left, but he rolls over to face you, eyes still closed. you brush his hair out of his face and place your hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “can i have a kiss before i go?” you ask. he keeps his eyes closed and puckers his lips. you laugh and lean down and kiss him lightly before sitting back up. “i love you,” you say, just trying to give him a hard time at this point.

“love you,” he says groggily, still unmoving.

you laugh and stand up from the bed. you put on your shoes and head out the door. “if jackson misses his bus, i swear i’ll kill you,” you call as you walk out the door, and you hear him groan again.

* * *

you don’t get any calls at work that day, no children missing from school, no fires started, no missing backpacks, so you assume that everything’s gone well that morning. you pick up the kids from school and daycare that afternoon. when you ask them how their day was, they all talk about how much fun they had with their dad that morning.

“and we got to ride in the fancy car!” jackson says from the backseat. he’s swinging his legs back and forth and he leans over to look at you in the mirror.

“yeah, mumma, the fancy car makes fun noises!” delilah continues. “vroom! vroom!”

“vroom!” lottie joins in. the three of them giggle in the backseat, all imitating the car.

you laugh as you pull into the driveway, surprised to see roger’s car already here. it’s barely 4, and he usually comes home late on the days when he’s in the studio. the kids see it immediately, and delilah gasps. as soon as the car is in park, lilah and jackson leap out of the car and run inside. you head back to unbuckle lottie, who’s equally eager but stuck in her seat. she pushes past you the second she’s free.

there’s screaming coming from the kitchen when you walk in, and you turn the corner to see roger on the ground with all three kids laying on top of him. you lean up against the wall, watching as he tickles them.

“mumma, daddy’s home,” lottie says, standing up and pointing down at roger.

“i see that, baby,” you say, smiling at her. “jackson and delilah why don’t you guys go put your backpacks away in your rooms?” they stand up and grab their bags from where they had thrown them down. “do you guys wanna do a movie night tonight?” they nod frantically. “okay, go put your stuff away quick then,” you say. they run up the stairs, lottie following close behind, just wanting to be included.

roger laughs, still sprawled out on the floor. you put out your hand to help him up, but he pulls you down next to him. you roll onto your back and lay your head on his shoulder. “so, you’re home early,” you say, smiling as you look up at the ceiling.

“yeah, deaky wasn’t feeling too well so they had us leave early,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer into him, so you’re on your side with your head resting on his chest. “can’t say i’m complaining, though.”

“those kids didn’t stop talking about how much fun they had this morning,” you say. “jackson was ecstatic that you made pancakes so you’re welcome for that one.” he laughs and rubs your shoulder as he leans down to place a kiss in your hair. 

“i love you and those damn kids,” he says. you sit up and connect your lips with his, and he places his hand on your jaw, pulling you back in when you try to pull away. he starts to deepen the kiss, and you almost forget that your kids are home until they come barreling down the stairs. you pull away and he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear before sitting up to place one final peck on your lips.

the three of them run into the room and lay down on the floor with us, all fighting to lay next to roger. you could be mad that he’s their favorite, but you’re not. you love that they love their dad, and you want them to soak up as much of him as they can.

“so what movie are we gonna watch?” he asks, sitting up and helping you up before lifting lottie from the ground. jackson and delilah follow after him as he heads upstairs to your room, where you always watching your movies. lottie calls out some princess movie, and jackson quickly denies. you stop at the bottom of the stairs, watching your favorite people simply interact, your heart warm.

roger turns around when he notices you’re not following. “you coming?” he asks, the kids running into the room as he looks at you.

you smile at him. “yeah, i’m coming.” he waits as you make your way up the stairs, and grabs your hand when you meet him at the top. he kisses your cheek before pulling you into the bedroom, and the five of you drop on the bed. you don’t recall paying much attention to the movie, since roger keeps messing with the kids, but you’re definitely not complaining.


	3. jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i...have never written anything like this so i hope it’s not terrible (this is not edited or proofread and also i wrote it on my phone so i apologize in advance for mistakes)

he was always fired up after a show. his hair wet with sweat, sticking to his forehead and neck, alcohol on his lips, adrenaline pumping through him like blood from a beating heart. it was one of the best and worst times to be his girlfriend.

best because you were the one he sought out first. his lips attacked your neck, shoulders, mouth, anywhere he could away with without being yelled at by you or an onlooking band member. his hands would slide up your skirt, fingertips ghosting the sensitive skin on your upper thighs, his face smug when you inhaled sharply and bit your lip. and it was all for you. in those moments the rest of the world faded away, nothing else mattered. just you and roger, both of your hearts beating out of your chest.

worst because he was a rockstar. and being a rockstar meant being swooned over, having girls throwing themselves at you, sloppy drunk and practically dropping to their knees. and given enough alcohol, roger almost didn’t catch on. he loved the spotlight, and he loved putting on a good show. with enough choruses of “you played so well tonight” and “you’re so talented”, his ego was too inflated to be able to realize these girls were there to fuck, to check having sex with a famous person off their bucket list.

still, you were the one that got to leave with him. you were the one that knew how he liked his coffee, which side of the bed he slept on, which spot on his neck could make his toes curl. you. not them.

you try to remind yourself of this now. sitting in the corner, sipping your drink and pretending not to care. but your leg is shaking wildly and heat is practically radiating off of you. he spins his drumstick around his finger, grinning wildly, and the girls erupt in a chorus of porn star laughter, one running her fingers down his bicep. you scoff, rolling your eyes and chugging the rest of your drink before reaching over to the shots on the table and taking one of those too.

“woah, someone’s not having a very good time.” 

you look over to see brian, who’s been next to you the whole time, but preoccupied with a conversation with deaky about the show. they’re both holding a beer, now facing you.

“my boyfriend is a fucking prick,” you say, reaching over to grab another shot. 

“alright let’s relax with those.” deaky grabs the tray and hands it to a nearby waiter, cutting you off.

“fucking look at him,” you continue, downing the shot in your hand. the one girl still has her hand on his arm, and he’s making no attempt to remove it. “her hand has been on his arm for like 10 fucking minutes.” you gesture over to them. “i’m gonna kill him.”

“he’s just putting on a show, love,” deaky says. “probably in part for you.” you look at him inquisitively. “he’s not like this when you’re not here, that’s all i’m saying.”

“that’s a load of shit,” you say. “he’s definitely just a prick.”

“well, that’s definitely also true,” brian chimes in, poking at your knee.

you sit in silence for a minute, staring at your asshole boyfriend surrounded by other girls. you’re moments from combusting into flames from the angry fire burning in the pit of your stomach. you reach over and steal brian’s beer from the table, not listening when he shouts something at you as you get up and walk away. you walk towards roger, pretending to be perfectly calm. your eyes bore into the back of the girl touching him, a target forming as you get closer. and then suddenly-

“oops!” you say, watching as the liquid drips off her hair. “i’m so damn clumsy.”

roger gives you a look saying _“what the fuck?”_ over her shoulder, and you respond with a look so deadly you’re surprised he’s still breathing afterwards. the girl, now soaked with beer, huffs and groans before stomping off into the crowd.

roger takes a step toward you, and you push past him before he can say anything. you tear through the main section of the bar and push open the door that leads to the back of the venue. it’s not glamorous by any means. there’s one single dressing room and a fridge. you’re not walking anywhere to particular, to the van you suppose, but you’re mostly just waiting for roger to stop you.

which he does, right as you open the back door and step outside into the cool night air. his fingers wrap around your wrist, turning you around and pulling you flush against his chest.

“i was originally going to yell,” he says, his lips ghosting over your ear. he nips at spot just below it, and you have to stop yourself from quivering. “but then i realized you were just jealous.” his voice is low and hungry, his pupils dilated, his fingers slipping under your shirt.

“fuck you,” you respond, despite all your natural instincts. you push him off you and step back. starting to pace back and forth as he leans against the brick wall of the bar. “you’re a prick, you know that?” you almost yell, keeping your voice down only for the sake of not creating a bigger scene than you already have. “you’re a goddamn fucking prick.”

“oh, yeah?” he says, leaning off the wall and taking a step towards you. “you acted like a little brat, spilling beer all over that poor girl.”

“poor girl?” you yell. “she knew exactly what she was trying to do and you fucking knew it too.” you’re in his face now, your chest bumping against his.

“oh i did, did i?” he says, his hands gesturing at his sides.

“yeah you d-”

you don’t get out anything else before roger smashes his lips into yours, his fingers lacing into your hair and pulling you closer to him. your hands slide underneath his shirt, rubbing up his chest and down to the waistband of his jeans. he tugs on your hair, causing you to moan. it’s sloppy and hungry and dirty, the two of you in a back alley, his tongue in your mouth and your hands inches away from his belt buckle.

he pulls away from your lips and attaches himself to your neck, sucking on the skin until there’s a dark purple bruise and promptly moving his lips to kiss down your collar bone, leaning more marks in his wake.

“you’re still a prick,” you say, your head thrown back and lips parted.

“you’re still a brat,” he spits back, moving from where he was sucking another hickey on exposed skin of your breast to kiss you again. 

his hands make their way under your shirt and undo the top button of your skirt. you suddenly can’t breath. he turns the two of you around and takes a few steps forward, pressing you up against the brick wall.

“such a fucking brat,” he says, and his hands slip under your skirt and press into you through your underwear. your breathing hitches and your knees buckle. he steadies you against his chest. he pushes your underwear aside. your vision blurs. your breathing is shaky. his name rolls off your tongue. the pit in your stomach swells until you can’t take it anymore, and you collapse in his arms. sweat is pouring down your face, your knees are complete putty.

he grabs you by the waist and hoists you up, balancing you on your feet. you’re both breathing heavy. you rest your head on his chest and he rubs his hands along your back.

“i’m still mad at you,” you say to him, even though you’re not. you can’t remember a time you actually stayed mad at him.

“i love you,” he replies. “even when you’re jealous.”

you lean back in his arms and smack his chest, and he erupts in a fit of laughter. “i wasn’t fucking jealous you were just being a proper dick,” you tell him.

“sure, love,” he says, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. you’ve completely melded into his chest, creating one giant mess of limbs. he peppers your face with more kisses, still holding most of your weight.

the best and the worst. but mostly the best.


	4. writer's block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi thots i kinda have writer's block so i came up with this little blurb kinda thing! (if you guys wanna send me requests for stuff i totally appreciate them and you can send them to my blog @rogtaylorr on tumblr which i only keep around for requests)

it was late afternoon on a saturday. roger had left early that morning to go work in the studio, and wouldn’t be back until late, so that left you by yourself for the entire day. you had already done some cleaning and baked some cookies, just out of pure boredom. you had just put on a pot of tea in the kitchen and sat down in the living room to read your book while you waited for it to boil, when the phone rang.

“hello?” you picked it up, holding the phone between the side of your face and your shoulder, not looking up from your book.

“hi, love,” roger said on the other end, and you smiled a little before marking your page and putting the book down on the coffee table.

“hey, baby. how’s the studio?” you ask.

“okay,” he sighs on the other end. 

your brows furrowed together instinctively. “just okay?” you ask. you hear the tea starting to boil in the kitchen, but you ignore it.

“yeah,” he continues, “just a little writer’s block is all.” he pauses for a second. “i just need a good song for this next record but i can’t seem to think of anything.”

you frown. “i’m sorry, bub. can i do anything to help?”

“well,” he says, “i was actually just kind of hoping hearing your voice would help.” you smile to yourself. “can you just, maybe tell me about your day?”

“of course, i can,” you say, leaning against the back of the couch. “i mean my day’s been pretty boring so i’m not sure that’ll help but-”

“i promise, it’ll help,” he explained.

“ok, well,” you sighed, thinking back to your day, “i got out of bed at like, 9 i think? i’m not entirely sure, i didn’t really check,” you laugh to yourself, and you can hear him laugh slightly in response. “and then i did some cleaning, and then i-”

“did you clean the music room?” he interjects.

you sigh to yourself. he was so picky about his music room, and he insisted on cleaning it himself. “no, i didn’t clean your damn music room,” you say. “you know i never bother trying to clean in there.”

“ok, good,” he says. “continue.”

“oh my god, okay,” you say, acting fake annoyed. “i don’t think i did much else.” you think for a minute. “oh, i made those cookies that you like. and...now i’m just making some tea and reading my book,” you finish.

he’s silent on the other end for a minute, and you can kind of hear him shuffling around in the background. “did that help?” you ask after a while of silence.

“oh, yeah, it did,” he says. “i gotta go. i love you. lots.”

“ok, i’ll talk to you soon,” you smile to yourself. “i love you. can’t wait to hear the song.”

“you’re always the first,” he says. “bye, doll.” and then the line goes dead, leaving you back to your day. you’re still bored, but your mood has definitely lifted.


	5. comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this is honestly super cliche but i was hella anxious tonight and needed to write it!!!! as always if anyone has any requests you can send them to @rogtaylorr on tumblr! (i don't love the end but i just wanna post this before i go to bed.) (this isn't proofread or edited lolol)

you had really tried to do everything you could to stop it from getting to this point, from getting this bad. you had done your breathing, counted to ten, drank a glass of water, gone for a walk around the venue, but no matter what you did, the weight on your chest kept getting heavier and heavier. you knew that the best solution was, the thing that would calm you down quicker than any other remedy you or your therapist could dream up. but you didn’t want it to get to that point. you wanted to be able to deal with this on your own, you didn’t want to need to rely on him anytime you felt discomfort.

you had started getting better at identifying the things that would trigger you. but then there were times like these, with absolutely nothing there to identify. there was no way to know until it was far too late.

he and everyone else would be back from soundcheck in about fifteen minutes. which means you had fifteen minutes to get yourself under control before it got crazy in the dressing room, and you effectively had no space and no quiet. you hardly ever complained about the tight backstage areas, but it was starting to get harder and harder to breath and the lack of space in the already small dressing room definitely wouldn’t help that.

you slowly paced the length of the room, breathing slowly and trying to avoid the fact that walls were starting to close in on you. you thought that fresh air might help, but there were no windows in the dressing room, and you were too anxious to try and find a way outside. not only this, but you knew wherever you went, there would be screaming fans prepared to bombard you, and you were definitely not up for that. so, instead, you just walked back and forth in the stuffy room as it slowly got smaller and smaller.

and you weren’t okay when they walked back into the room. no matter how hard you had tried to be.

you greeted them curtly and sat down on the couch, desperately trying to act natural, but you were moving far too much. your hands combing through your hair, rubbing your eyes, chewing your nails, turning away to try and hide your deep breaths.

roger is coming down from the slight high of performing on stage, even if it was a rehearsal and ultimately to an empty audience. the guys start moving around the room, grabbing snacks and water bottles and sitting down in front of the mirrors to wipe their sweat.

but he notices immediately. he knows you too well, and he knows without a doubt that something is wrong, he always does.

“love?” he whispers, sitting down on the couch next to you and placing his hand on your back, starting to slowly rub small circles. “what’s wrong?”

you rub your hands over your face before placing them on your forehead and leaning against them, not able to look up at him. “i’m fine, i’m fine,” you say. and he doesn’t pry. he knows you’ll tell him. he knows you need a minute to formulate the words. you sit up and place a hand over your chest, your breathing still labored. “i just-um-i can’t fucking breath.” you practically collapse as soon as the words leave your mouth, dropping your head back into your hands as you start to lose feeling of your body.

“ok, sweetheart,” he coos, “it’s alright.” unfortunately, he’s done this a few times. he knows you’ll be okay. he knows you just need to work through it. “can you sit up for me?” he continues to rub your back, slowly coaxing you to sit up. it takes you a minute, but you finally pull yourself up from your hands. you take a few deep breaths. 

you’re not feeling much better, but not being alone in the room has helped make you feel less claustrophobic. all the guys know what’s going on, but they also know you pretty well, and they know that making a fuss will only make things worse.

“hey, deaky?” he calls out. he swivels in his chair and looks over at roger. “can you just get me a water bottle from the fridge?” he quickly walks to the fridge and grabs a bottle before tossing it over to roger, who catches it and twists off the cap before handing it over to you. “just take a few sips okay?” you do, despite having just done this not too long ago. that also doesn’t help much.

you put the bottle on the table and lean into roger, his hand on your back no longer enough. he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto his lap, turning you sideways so your legs are resting on the other side of the couch and your head is resting on his shoulder. “you’re okay,” he comforted. “i’ve got you. you’re okay.”

you close your eyes and just focus on your breathing. you place your hand over his chest, so you can feel his heartbeat, and sync your breath up with the pulse behind your palm. this always helped, for whatever reason, having something else to keep a tempo as you breathe. he places his hand over yours and leans down you place a kiss on your forehead.

you sit like this for a few minutes, your panic slowly melting away and turning into exhaustion as it always did. 

“how’re you feeling?” he says, running his fingers through your hair.

“tired,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around his waist, he tightens his grip and squeezes you back.

“that’s good,” he empathized. because he knows. tired means you’re okay. tired means you can breathe again, that the walls aren’t closing in on you. tired means that the worst thing you’re feeling is worn out.

“i’m sorry,” you tell him, even though you know it’s not necessary. “i love you.”

“don’t be,” he responds, just like you knew he would. “i love you the most.”

“rog?” brian says. “i hate to do this, man, but we go on soon. you gotta start getting ready.”

you take one more deep breath and use all your energy to push yourself off his lap, standing in front of him and then putting your hand out in front of you. he takes it, and you jokingly pull him up. he wraps his arms around you one last time. “you sure you’re okay?”

“yeah,” you tell him honestly, “i’m good.” you pull away from him and smile. “go get ready.”

he pulls away and kisses your nose before starting to move about, slowly getting himself ready for the show. your heart pangs slightly at the loss of contact and the sudden thought that you’re alone again. you take another breath and suppress that feeling, because you aren’t alone. you never were. you’ve always got roger, no matter what.


	6. "i love you"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really like....love not giving detailed smut...maybe some day. anyway this took like so long to write it's probably been over a week and i'm just now finishing it so i hope it's okay alksdjfalksdjf (as always, not proofread or edited lmao)

_-two weeks-_

you were still kind of in awe. roger taylor wanted you. and from what you could tell, for more than just a fuck.

it was one am currently, and you were laying sprawled out on your bed, alone for the first time in a while. the whole room seemed far too big suddenly, feeling completely different than it had just two weeks prior. the air was too cold and the only solution you could think of was having someone wrapped around you.

you contemplated picking up the phone, deciding against it every time you came close. you were still so early in the relationship, you were desperate to not come off as clingy.

you sat up for about the fifth time, readjusting to try and get more comfortable. you eyed the phone, hoping it would ring, or you could get over yourself and dial his number.

but he did you one better.

you huffed and rolled over, stuffing your face in your pillow and letting out a scream.

“jesus, someone’s having a rough night, huh?”

you sit straight up, turning to see roger standing in the doorway to your bedroom. you stood up on the bed and ran across it, leaping from the end and landing in his arms, your legs wrapped around his torso and his hands underneath your thighs. your lips immediately go to his, and he kisses you back feverishly. your hands run through his hair as he steps forward and drops you onto the bed.

“you really should lock your front door,” he says, pulling your sleep shirt over your head.

“yeah, whatever,” you say, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders before moving your hands down to work on his belt buckle.

“no, really,” he continues, kissing down your neck. “i mean what if it was someone else that had walked in?”

“are you gonna lecture me or are you gonna fuck me?” you ask playfully, finally pulling off his belt buckle and moving on to his pants.

and then everything is a blur. the both of you are a mess of limbs. you and him, there’s nothing else that matters. the fire in your stomach builds until you completely burst into flames, and you’re on fire and he’s on fire and the whole room is still ablaze as he lays down next to you, and the only thing that cools you down is his soft hands on your waist, pulling you into him.

“i couldn’t sleep either,” he says, running his hands up and down your back.

“yeah?” you ask, still coming down from your high. 

“yeah.” he places a finger under your chin and brings your lips to his. this time it’s soft and gentle, like you’re made of glass. “ _i couldn’t stop thinking about you_ ,” he says, his lips ghosting over your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

“is that so?” you say, trying to suppress the grin on your face.

“don’t look so smug,” he says. “you were the one screaming into the bloody pillow because you missed me so much.”

_-three months-_

he had been on tour for about a month now, and you hadn’t realized just how attached you’d gotten until he was gone. he wasn’t a phone call away anymore. no more surprise visits and spending every night together. no more parties. no more band practices and studio visits. just phone calls.

you had never hated phone calls more. i mean, it was nice to hear his voice, but every time you answered the phone your heart broke a little bit more.

you had just gotten in from work. it was friday, and you were gonna go out with your friends, but you had to shower and change first. 

you were almost heading out the door when the phone rang. you knew immediately it was roger. you dropped your makeup and ran to the bedroom to answer the phone.

“hi,” you said, partially out of breath as you dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“hey, baby,” he says on the other end. “how was your day?” 

“it was fine.” you curl the phone cord with your free hand. “i’m heading out with the girls in a few minutes.”

“oh, that sounds fun,” he says. “are you guys going to get food?”

“yeah and then to the bar after, i think.” you chew on your lip. “what are you up to?”

“we just finished rehearsal,” he tells you.. “the show starts in a few hours. babe, i wish you could see the crowds here. they’re fucking wild.”

“i wish i could be there too,” you tell him, pouting slightly. “my rockstar boyfriend,” you say teasingly.

he laughs. “alright, love. i’m sorry to make it short but i gotta go. call me in the morning, yeah? _be safe tonight_.”

“i always am,” you tell him. “i’ll talk to you soon.”

“ok, bye, doll.” the line goes dead, and you place the phone down before sighing and falling back on the bed.

_-six months-_

you hadn’t left your bed in at least 24 hours. your body ached and your head throbbed. you wanted more than anything for roger to come and hold you in his arms and make it all better. but he had important things to do right now, and he couldn’t afford to get sick, so you just made an excuse every time he called.

“babe?” his voice rang through your apartment. you had drifted asleep, and at this point you felt so awful that you didn’t have the energy to respond. you just laid there, curled into a ball, blankets tucked around you. he walked through the doorway, his brows furrowing immediately. “oh, love,” he sits down on the bed next to you, brushing some hair off your forehead before placing the back of his palm against it. “you’re burning up.”

“yeah,” is all you can really say. you’re still laying with your blankets tucked under your chin. 

“alright,” he stands up from the bed. “i’m getting you some water and some medicine, okay?”

“wait,” you say. he turns back around a looks at you. “can you just stay here for a little while?”

he smiles and walks back to the bed, quickly leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead. “you really need to hydrate, love. i’ll just be a minute.” you smile to yourself as he jogs out of the room.

he returns shortly, with a glass of water and a couple pills in his hands. he sits down next to you and helps you sit up in the bed. you manage a smile as he hands you the medicine, and you take it with your water. he makes you take a few more sips before placing the cup down on the side table. he stands from the bed and pulls off his jacket, placing it on your desk before toeing off his shoes.

“what are you doing?” you ask as he pulls up the covers and starts getting in next to you. he looks at you inquisitively. “rog, no, you can’t get sick,” you say as you slide to the other side of the bed.

“i don’t care,” he tells you, pulling back so you’re flush against his chest. “ _the only thing i care about right now is making sure you feel better._ ”

at this point, you’re too comfortable to complain, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep in his arms.

_-seven months-_

it was a warm day in late june. the windows of his apartment were open wide and an early summer breeze blew through the living room. you were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, a book in your hands and your feet in his lap while he strummed at his guitar and wrote out lyrics. there was an extremely comfortable calm lingering in the air, and you don’t think about the fact that he’s leaving again soon. you just sit and listen to him hum and write and hum and write.

“that’s really pretty,” you say, folding over the page in your book and placing it down in lap.

“yeah?” he questions. he looks over at you with a grin, his pencil resting between his lips.

you laugh and lean forward, grabbing the pencil by the eraser and pulling it from his mouth before placing a slow kiss against it. you pull away and lean back against the armrest of the couch. “yeah,” you say. “it’s quite lovely.”

he smiles and you hand him the pencil back, and he continues working on the song.

you stare at him adoringly, a few little words bubbling up and sitting on the tip of your tongue. you think about these words a lot, somehow always nervously convincing yourself not to say them.

“hey,” he says suddenly, pulling you from your trance. you look up at him. “ _i love you_ ,” he proclaims simply.

your heart beats out of your chest as you smile back at him. “i love you, too.”

he reaches over and laces his fingers with yours, pulling your forward and placing a kiss against the back of your hand before pulling you forward more and kissing your nose. “i love you,” he says again.

your smile grows more, encompassing your whole face. “i love you.”

he moves his hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. he connects his lips with yours, gentle and steady. he pulls away and moves down to kiss your jaw. his lips trail down the exposed skin of your neck and he reaches down and tugs at the hem of your t-shirt. he pulls it over your head and reattaches his lips to yours, you hum against his lips and start unbuttoning his shirt.

he grabs you by your hips and wraps your legs around him, standing from the couch. your lips move down to place kisses on his neck, sucking a deep purple bruises in their wake. he kicks open the bedroom door, walking over to the bed and gently laying you on top of the sheets.

he climbs on top of you, placing kisses up your stomach, the valley of your breasts, your neck, your jaw, before finally connecting your lips with his. “i love you,” he mumbles against your lips.

“i love you.”


End file.
